


flickering

by fflewddur_feanorion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hanukkah, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, fire metaphors, so many fire metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fflewddur_feanorion/pseuds/fflewddur_feanorion
Summary: In Beleriand, the Noldor have a new tradition to honor the lights they have lost. But when everything is so dark, how can a few candles make any difference?
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	flickering

“Makalaurë?”

“Yes?”

“Why are there…” Maedhros sighed in exasperation and gestured at the windowsill. “What is the word? Lights. Fire-sticks.”

“Fire-sticks… oh, you mean  _ candles _ ,” Maglor realized. His eldest brother often forgot words like this; in Angband, he had barely spoken at all. ( _ Words are dangerous there _ , he'd told Maglor once.  _ They can get you killed, or worse. _ Maglor hadn't asked him to elaborate.) 

Then, because Thingol had gone and  _ banned  _ their childhood language, Maedhros had been forced to learn an entirely new tongue. It was a wonder, really, that he'd learned to speak again so quickly… but then again, Maedhros had always been determined.

“Candles,” Maedhros repeated. “Yes. Why are there so many? Surely we don’t need them all.”

“It’s a new tradition,” Maglor explained. “Our people have always valued light. First it came from the Trees, then from our father's–”

“Don’t say it.” Maedhros growled. 

“From  _ them, _ " Maglor acquiesced. "Now it comes from the Sun and Moon, but we also use candles and torches.” That had been another surprise for Maedhros when he returned to Lake Mithrim. They hadn’t used these things in Valinor very much. Why would they, when they were always surrounded by lights? 

Maglor realized that his brother was still watching him expectantly. “Here in Middle-Earth, midwinter is the darkest time of year," he continued."Each year, we light extra candles during this season to remember what was lost.”

“I should think we do quite enough of  _ that  _ already,” said Maedhros bitterly. “Not a day goes by when I don’t remember our home– the Two Trees, the cities, Grandfather,  _ ada _ …" He glared at the candles, and for a moment his eyes seemed full of flames.  _ Just like Ada's before he burned to ash, _ Maglor realized. The thought unsettled him. Feanor was a spirit of fire. What if Maedhros was too? What if they all were? 

_ Light and fire are not the same thing,  _ Maglor thought. Light filled up your heart and made you happy. It gave you hope. Fire… fire was different. It was beautiful, and  _ powerful,  _ but burned anyone who ventured too close. And eventually, it burned itself out. 

Maglor didn't want that to happen to Maedhros.

"I have seen the light of the Trees," Maedhros continued. "Compared to that, these candles are small and weak. How am I supposed to be grateful, when I've known so much  _ more _ ?"

"Because…" Maglor sighed. "I don't  _ know _ , Maedhros. I ask myself the same question, and I don't have an answer. No one does. But think about it. If these small, weak candles were lit in Valinor at the Mingling of the Lights, would you even notice them?"

"No."

Maglor nodded. "Exactly. Because it is so dark here, we must learn to cherish what little light we have."

"This is why  _ you _ are the poet," Maedhros grumbled. "Very well. I will try."

Maglor leaned back in his chair and watched the flickering candles. "I miss home," he admitted. "All the time."

"Yes," said Maedhros.

"But… this is our home now, I suppose. For good or for ill."

"Yes."

On a tiny, grimy window ledge in a hastily constructed fortress on the front lines of a never-ending war, a row of tiny lights shone on.


End file.
